


The Part You Throw Away

by GunStain



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, F/M, Feelings, Heavy Angst, Politics, Rating May Change, Serious Injuries, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunStain/pseuds/GunStain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go south on a job in Haiti. Because things never seem to go smooth, now do they? Have I mentioned how terrible I am at summaries?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Part You Throw Away

It’s easy to hit the water wrong when you fall from this high up, and that’s exactly what I do. I slam into it hard, with the flat of my back and knock myself right out of existence, out of thought. My chin crashes into my chest, the air punches its way out of my chest and for a stretch of eternity I do nothing. I don’t attempt to breathe. I don’t attempt to hold my breath. I just let it all happen. It’s all I can do in that moment.

But then I’m sinking and it’s the only thing that finds its way into my awareness. A small fluttering of concern in the badlands of consciousness and, still, for another handful of seconds I continue to let what is going on happen before my body decides to fight it, before I begin my clawing battle back to the surface.

This wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t deliberate, either. The boys will have to realize that much, at the very least. Those are the first sentient thoughts I have and it’s possible the last as something dark and static begins to edge in around the perimeter of my sight.

I break the surface and the air is hot again, at odds with the numbing temperature of the water. A natural aquifer. That’s the only reason a body of water would be this cold in this much heat. The quarry from the map? I don’t even know, yet. 

New thoughts begin to find their way in. I don’t want this. I don’t want this death. It becomes my clarion bell, tolling itself out as I struggle against what is probably two broken, or at least dislocated, ribs and my inability to draw in enough air to satisfy. 

I’m making a lot of noise, I must be. Between my gasping and thrashing, it must all sound like a terrible squable. It must sound like death. “Sound carries over water, little girl.” The memory swims up, unbidden and out of the depths of stupid facts and flotsam that Illya has put considerable effort cramming into my head. And I go still. Sound carries over water, and they’re gonna hear you. They’re gonna come back for you. They’re gonna finish you. It’s enough to bring me to absolute stillness. No movement, my head barely above surface and even that, enough to scare me that it’s too exposed, even in the silent dark of the night.

Looking up, it’s easy to wonder how I managed to not die from the fall alone. As badly as I hit the water to begin with, I could have hit it even worse. I could have snapped on impact. I’m sure others have. I’m sure it’s why I was tossed in here to begin with. It’s a convenient spot, as far as body dumps go. It would be an effective one, too, if someone had thought to kill me first and dump me second. 

I reach my hand up to pull across my face and the thin cold of the water is reedy against a thick heat of what can only be blood. So maybe they did try to kill me first. They just did a piss poor job of things. Incompetence saves the day.

I’ll thank them later for that.

The quarry, I decide. It has to be. We never scouted the location, but we’ve known of it’s existence since the beginning of the assignment. It’s a place locals dump things they don’t want. Cars, beer cans, me. The walls stretch up and away and for one dizzy, freezing moment I feel like I’m in church, in a cathedral, one ripped out of the foundation of the earth and cracked into her inner self, but a cathedral nonetheless. It’s huge and massive. Impressive even. The grandeur of it. If it wasn’t trying to kill me it would be relaxing to be in its presence. The walls of the quarry are granite, and in the scant light of tonight the are a brilliant white and smooth and it casts out its reflection behind me, the water going on for a while before a twinned set of pale rock walls reaches skyward in the distance.

I just let myself bob there, taking the situation in.

From my spot in the water, I can’t make out anything along the rim. I can’t see if the people who threw me in here are still there to make sure I’m where they want me. But if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. 

So, I continue to bob and wait. A wet, tired thing on the outer edges of consciousness. On the outside of calm. Struggling to plan.

I’m furious. 

But for now, that’s all I need to survive.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at returning to fanfic after a pretty extended sabbatical and but UNCLE just reeled my ass right back into the habit. Feedback is kindness and I'd love to hear what people think.


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